


Burning Hands

by pok3d3x



Series: Fireside Chats [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Disassociation, Fire, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Mighty Nein as Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team Human, Team as Family, Wound Cleaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pok3d3x/pseuds/pok3d3x
Summary: It's been awhile since Caleb has had a large disassociative episode, and unsurprisingly, it's still not easy to deal with. The Mighty Nein have had experience bringing him back to the present, but there's still no cure all for a wounded mind.⁂Everyone looked to the wizard, concern graven in each face differently. Jester clearly felt guilt, surely thinkingif onlyabout some spell or another being available to her. Nott reached for her flask before remembering she'd given it to Jester for safekeeping while she worked on her alcoholism. Fjord had a dark look on his face as he took in their situation, ever pragmatic. Caduceus seemed calculating in a way that wasn't typical of him. Beau reflected he hadn't seen this as much as the rest of them. Calebhad beengetting better.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast
Series: Fireside Chats [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1034133
Comments: 24
Kudos: 394





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an arbitrary time after they have established the Xhorhaus and are travelling. Rated for swearing and _surprise, surprise_ mild descriptions of fire magic getting out of hand.
> 
> Crunch time making costumes for C2E2, and I needed a break from using my heat gun and x-acto knives for hot second. Part Two should be hitting in a few hours when I need my next break.

The rainfall was thunderous in its own right. Aside from the actual lightning and its echoes, the chaotic battle of many combatants running around and slipping in the mud was enough confusion to be overwhelming for anyone, let alone the damaged wizard who'd been woken from his sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

They'd had to set up camp in the middle of a rocky mountain, too exhausted to make it to the next town. Caleb had felt stupid as a crack of thunder had so thoroughly startled him awake that he stood and readied a firebolt, but not as stupid as he then felt when he tripped over Fjord in his groggy haste and fell outside of dome that _had_ been keeping them all dry.

The deluge of rain had quickly woken everyone up, and Caleb had been so embarrassed and panicked, he would have cast his tiny hut flat out with no ritual if he'd had the energy left. The day before had drained all of the spellcasters down to the barest spells. Caduceus was out of all healing, and Jester had to choose when the party asked if she could use her hat trick for some more information. Between sending a message to Essik as promised or speaking with a dead traveler the party happened upon to find out how they died, she had ultimately decided to check in on Essik, much to some of the party's disappointment.

He'd begun to immediately use his small crystal bead to begin casting it again, but he was too late. Apparently there had been a party awaiting the dome's collapse, because a small volley of crossbow bolts had assaulted the party from multiple angles, making their mark twice on Caduceus and once on Nott. A bolt had just barely missed Caleb, and he readied scorching ray as he stood upright and looked around for targets.

There were spellcasters in the party attacking them. A beam of arcane energy that looked similar to what Fjord could sling impacted Beau in the chest, two small rays twinning on her form maliciously. Following line of sight, Caleb aimed all three blasts on the spellcaster that hit Beau, but only one of his flames made its mark. 

He swore in Zemnian as he began chanting again, ready to… he couldn't cast scorching ray again. Magic missile in its tiniest form would have to do as he saw that the fire didn't seem to particularly phase the foe.

Before he could get the last word of the tip of his tongue to free the missiles, a heavy chain knocked the breath out of him as it collided with and wrapped around his stomach, pinning his arms to his side.

"Caleb!" Nott's voice shrieked out as he was pulled backwards abruptly.

He fell into the mud as the chain yanked him nearly ten feet back, and he severely hoped there was a quiet moment later that Jester could give him shit for getting his nice new jacket sopping wet. He gravely wished his overreaction to a simple nightmare wasn't what was going to get the whole party killed. He… 

If he remembered the terrain correctly—and of course he did—he had only fifteen feet between him and the small cliff edge of the mountain path they were taking. Of course they hadn't liked having to stop in the open, but they figured with a bubble the color of the stone face it was their best option for how sorry a state they'd been in. They'd hunkered down as far from the edge as possible and rested.

Caleb dug his fingers into the ground beneath him, his hands vexingly passing right through the mushy ground and providing no stable place to hold on as the chain yanked again. He slipped over the edge, failing to catch any purchase on the rain-sodden ground, and with a sturdy kick from his assailant for good measure, he began to roll down the steep decline, the chain loosening but still restricting his movement as he flailed for something to grab onto.

The stoneface roughed him up as he tumbled down, and the chain's loose end collided with him a few times as he would hit a shrub or protruding stone hard enough to slow his decent for just a moment. On one particular collision, it struck him just above the temple, cutting up one eye and filling the other with the quantity of blood only a head injury blood could provide.

He didn't fall too far with the couple of shrubs that slowed his rolling descent down, if he had to guess, probably around seventy-four feet. He was barely conscious, tapped out of all but two piddly spells, and alone as his friends continued the fight up above. He heard a thunderous clap so close, he figured it had to be Fjord's doing rather than Mother Nature—though that was perhaps becoming the same thing.

It took him a minute to finally free himself from from the chain once and for all. His arms were shaking from his injuries and the cold damp that soaked into his jacket. He pushed himself up to sitting, and weakly backed against the wall for the most coverage. 

He held his breath as he waited for any sign that the combat was coming his way, his fingers trembling as he prepared the sigil in the air to cast burning hands. So many of his spells relied on sight to target, and his eyes were swelling shut. 

Caleb always hated his cowardice, but right now as he literally shook in his boots and waited for his friends to finish the foes that had been able to ambush them because of his mistakes, he felt the need to vomit at his own patheticness.

Rubbing his better eye clean, he got a glimpse of the world around him, the rain showing no sign of letting up, but only for a moment before it became red and murky again.

The sudden sound of feet landing just in front of him, alerted him to a presence and he released his held spell quickly.

"No, wait, Caleb—!"

Caleb's stomach raised to his throat as he recognized Beauregard's voice a second too late to cancel the spell, and writhing flames spewed forth from his outstretched fingers, engulfing his friend.

He didn't need to be able to see what his mind showed him. He could see Beauregard staggering to the ground, clothes burning until the rain could finally put them out, half melted to her charred skin… He could smell burning hair and clothing, the acrid scent curling over viciously.

It was exaggerated from the truth, but as he went numb to the world, his own imagination only got worse and more convincing.

Beauregard hadn't seen it coming, so she was a little late to jump and spin out of danger's way, but it only singed her. She slapped some of the plentiful mud on her legs where a few flames were starting to climb her monk vestments, but that was it. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she saw Caleb's face go slack. "No, no, Caleb, no…"

He showed no reaction as she snapped in front of his face. He was swallowed up in his own mind. Kneeling down in front of him, she took his cheeks in her hands and raised his face a little so he had to look at her. "I'm right here, you asshole."

She'd slap him awake if she didn't think that would knock him out. He was even paler than usual, the blood drained taking its toll. "C'mon, you've got to snap out of it."

Huffing in frustration, she stood up and pulled him into a fireman's carry, using her sash to bind his crossed arm and leg to her chest for stability and clearing up both hands for climbing. 

It was a hard climb. She could dart around and snake her way to the top in just over ten seconds if she were climbing by herself, but with Caleb tied to her, she couldn't rely on her light bounces to the next easy handhold. She was locked to the side of the mountain and whatever she could reach with her short wingspan.

Sweat made her eyes sting, and she was grateful for her bracers of defense; simple hand wrappings would have torn away by now.

A magically carried whisper floated to her ears a couple minutes into her climb," _Are you carrying him? Is he dead?! You can reply to this message"_

"No, he's not dead, Nott. He's just a little weak from the fall," she ground out as she continued to climb, relying on magic to carry it back at a hearable volume despite the rain. She slipped for a second, but caught her balance and continued to haul them up, now a little over twenty feet up.

 _"That's too many negatives. He's dead!"_ Her voice was shrill and miserable.

"Your name's a damn negative, Nott," She argued. Not sure if it would be caught by the spell in time, she added," He's fine!"

He was not fine.

There was little she could do about that while scaling a mountain though, and Nott being worried made her less efficient.

She could really use a helping hand about now. Beau's breath was haggard, and she was already beginning to slow down.

She'd shout up to them if she wasn't concerned about drawing unwanted attention. She had no intention of being ambushed twice in one night.

Luckily, one of the more levelheaded members of the Nein looked over and dropped a rope in short order. Between Jester and Caduceus hauling the rope up on their end and her walking along the rockface on hers, she finally pulled herself and her catatonic friend over the cliff. Fjord quickly helped her put some distance between them and the cliff.

Untying her sash, she was relieved as Jester pulled him off of her and set him down more gently than she had the poise to manage at the moment, her limbs shaking from a surprise battle and unanticipated mountain climb.

"What happened? Caleb? Beau?" Jester's voice became a whine as Beau was slow to answer and she saw the lack of expression in his battered face. "You guys!"

Beau was breathing too hard to answer immediately, and held up a finger to give herself a few seconds to catch her breath. "He must have bashed his face on the rock or something," she finally explained," He couldn't see it was me approaching, and he…"

A frown twisted at her lips as she punched the waterlogged mud beneath her in frustration. "I barely got scorched, but he…y'know?" She waved her other hand in front of her face to indicate vacancy.

Everyone looked to the wizard, concern graven in each face differently. Jester clearly felt guilt, surely thinking _if only_ about some spell or another being available to her. Nott reached for her flask before remembering she'd given it to Jester for safekeeping while she worked on her alcoholism. Fjord had a dark look on his face as he took in their situation, ever pragmatic. Caduceus seemed calculating in a way that wasn't typical of him. Beau reflected he hadn't seen this as much as the rest of them. Caleb had been getting better.

Reaching the same thought at roughly the same time, Jester asked," I forget, Caduceus, have you seen him like this before?"

"This seems particularly bad," his low voice answered gravely.

"Thanks for the hand up," Beau began, struggling to sound sincere," But can you guys give me a moment with him?" She'd managed to get him out of these spells before, she'd do it again. She had to.

Crouching in front of him, as the others left, she punched his chest lightly, leaving her fist there as she kept her voice down and said," Alright, Caleb. Time for a big favor. Can you wake the fuck up now?" Her voice was even raspier than usual from the intensive climb, but tried to smooth it out, tried to make it an inviting sound despite spending most of her life trying to make her words be the most jagged she could. 

"I know your mind is beating the shit out of you right now, but we need another hut, man. You know I'm no good at apologies, and I'm even worse at receiving them, so I don't want one. I'm not mad at you." 

Seeing her words didn't have any effect, she continued with a measured voice," Everyone's okay. They're just glad we found you. Now we all just need a good night's sleep. But it's dangerous out here, and those bandits mentioned they have friends."

A small movement in his face could have maybe been a blink, but even so, that could just be from the rain pelting down. She grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her shoulder like he often did when using Frumpkin's senses. Placing her forehead to his, she continued to whisper," We're Team Human. We've got to prove we're resiliant as fuck, okay? I'm just fine, and you will be too."

The rhythm of his breathing shifted, and she took it as encouragement that it was working.

"We can have a huge fucked up debate about fault and shit tomorrow, I promise, but right now, we just need to take care of our friends." Her stomach flipped at her own words. She didn't expect that last sentence to feel so genuine. 

She heard her name sandwiched between a few Zemnian words, his voice airy but gruff. Pulling away so she could see his expression, she asked," You with me?"

His brow was cinched, but his eyes were focused. He was quiet for a moment more, and she was afraid she lost him again. "… _Ja_. Of course." 

Beauregard stood up slowly, helping him to his feet. "Still got it in you to make another bubble?"

"If you could walk me to the camp…" His voice was drawn, and he kept his head down, not being able to see much anyways and experiencing searing pain accompanied with disorrienting lights when he looked up.

It took him a few minutes longer than usual with his hands quivering as bad as they were, but fifteen minutes later, and the Mighty Nein was finally protected from the elements again.

The tiny hut made sure that the air was warm and dry. It even circulated air as was necessary if one cooked inside it. Even so, the air between everyone as they huddled for warmth—everyone cold to the bone with their soaked clothes—was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Let's all get some sleeping in now and worry about healing tomorrow," Fjord advised, tired and slipping back into his relaxed drawl out of habit.

No one disagreed, but no one really slept either. All the bedding was wet, and the ground was still a couple inches of mud, though it was starting to warm up at least. The only one who actually laid down was Caleb, dead center in the bubble, and curled up in the mud without even attempting to spread out a bedroll or blanket.

"Don't worry guys, this is what a magic bag is for. Just you wait…!" The forced enthusiasm in Jester's voice was a little shrill, but overall a welcome piece of familiarity. She quickly pulled out the thicker quilts they had for colder weather incase there wasn't enough space for a bubble, and she pulled out some extra dresses to offer and a blouse for Nott to don as a dress. "Fjord, I think you could fit into this dress of mine, but it will be really short—"

"No thanks, Jes."

"He's used to being wet," Nott excused on his behalf. "All sea men are."

"I imagine that's true of most anyone whose profession keeps them outdoors," Caduceus pondered aloud.

While everyone set to getting dry and laying out the large quilt to share, Beauregard and Nott noticed Caleb never moved until Jester and Caduceus asked him to make space for their dramatic laying out of the quilt. Then, he stood stock still as the focus left his eyes again.

Beau made eye contact with Nott as they figured out silently who should handle this one. She nodded at Nott as they somehow came to the conclusion that he would be more receptive to her help, then wrinkled her brow with wonder at how she had ever gotten this close to one person, let alone a group of people, enough to communicate such a complicated question without words.

"Hey, Caleb," Nott started softly, pulling on his sleeve gently. It took him a second to register, but then he looked down to her, a stressingly blank expression. "Let's get you into some dryer clothes." Her mothering tone took over, and if that wasn't the strongest force in the world, Beauregard didn't know what else might be. She wondered if her mother had ever used a tone like that instead of only one of disappointment if she'd be where she was now.

Jester pulled her from her thoughts and held up the red dress from Nicodranas. "C'mon, Beau, you look so good in red, and that vest has to be pretty uncomfortable right now!"

"Y-yeah, thanks, Jes," Beau said without even considering that she was agreeing to the dress with bows on it until she was holding it, too flustered by Jester's comment that she looked good in red. 

Maybe she'd start splashing red in her outfits. 

To contrast with the blue. 

Or wear exclusively red. 

Fuck the Cobalt Soul. 

Jester's eyes were being more than a tad suggestive right now, and Beau was blushing more than she liked. Stripping down and putting on the froofy dress, she wasn't very comfortable, but she was warmer and dry, and she could wake up feeling like she fell asleep at a party with little remorse.

Nott helped him out of his nice jacket and trousers, into the old set of clothes he used to travel in, glad Jester had thought to pack it but upset she hadn't thought to pack any other clothes for him herself. He looked… broken. Being back in his old clothes when he had finally been confident enough to don an outfit he felt good in felt like seven steps backwards, and he evidently felt something similar as he inspected his old tunic bleakly.

"We'll have your nice jacket prestidigitationed when we get into town," she promised. When he didn't react, she hesitantly added," Okay?"

He couldn't muster any words, but he nodded slightly, taking her small hand in his and squeezing gently. Following its pull, Nott found herself curled up with him shortly after. She could feel him trembling, and asked quietly," Are you cold?"

She could feel a slight shake of the head against her hair like she was expecting, and followed up with," I'll keep watch. I won't let you get up again."

He was already clutching onto her as if for dear life, hiding his face in her hair, but with that promise, his hold felt a little more like an embrace. 

Sleep didn't come particularly easy for anyone, but Nott guessed she got the least. His Zemnian mumbling was hot on her neck and its pleading tone made her stomach crawl, and his dream was vivid enough to make him thrash a few times, jolting her from any dozing she could manage. 

She was good to her word though. Despite how tired she was, any movement of his that could even slightly be construed as the beginning to sitting up was met with her hand reaching up for his cheek, staying there until he stilled once more. These moments were brief, but jumbled words in broken languages ranging from the guttural Zemnian of his homeland to the bell like song of Celestial would leak through his lips, meaning unknown but clearly marked by distress.

Nott was relieved when Beau came over to be big spoon, grumbling something about just wanting to sleep and implying she would use pressure points to immobilize him if he moved too much. The threat was a loose wrapping around her true meaning that she was concerned. It was a bit of a nuisance to get the tuul of the dress to behave as she tried to lay beside him, but she was nothing if not determined, and after almost a minute of trying to get comfortable in the ridiculous dress, she was able to wrap Caleb with her capable arms and let her head plant itself in the tense connection between his neck and shoulders.

Hopefully that was enough for him to get worthwhile sleep. He was at least motionless enough that the others could get proper rest. They'd need it to deal with the bandits that were almost certainly waiting to take them out in the morning. Especially if their wizard was out of commission.

****

⁂

Caleb woke to a gentle kiss on his forehead, healing magic washing over him and the soreness of his eyes fading to a tiresome memory. His expression was still blank, but he blearily took the people around him looked ready for a fight—some in night clothes and others in party dresses.

Everyone was caked in dried mud, and he numbly thought he was the only one to deserve such a state of dress. He was sitting while everyone else save Jester was standing. She was holding him upright, crouching in front of him.

"We've got this if you don't think you can fight, okay, Caleb?" Jester's voice was sing-songy and confident. "We only see four of them, and they're not even hiding that well."

He felt locked inside his own mind. He couldn't express how he felt or explain that he wanted to fight, but his chest was too tight and his legs felt like they couldn't move. He couldn't think of the common words for "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry" and he couldn't make his eyes focus and breathe at the same time. And—

He muttered the arcane words of his fledgling dunemancy, tracing a small sigil on her back as he sank forwards into her readied embrace. "Oh, Caleb," she murmured, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Thank you. We'll keep you safe."

He didn't deserve it. His arms tightened around her as his eyes began to feel warm. His voice scratched as he whispered, " _Noch zwölf_ … Minutes—Twelve minutes before…" He trailed off and pointed skyward weakly.

"We've got this, Caleb," Jester whispered. "Rest."

A warm feeling passed over him, like the gentle kiss of the sun on the coast of the Menagerie Coast. Even in the fugue he was passing in and out of, he tracked her words, recognizing their intent if not their literal meaning from previous casting. She was protecting him, asking the Traveler to keep enemies from aiming their weapons or harmful spells at him.

He'd been holding them back so far, but tears slowly burgeoned and fell down his cheeks as the rest of the Nein circled around him, readying for battle while he sat there uselessly.

It was a much easier battle than the one that unfolded last night. Not being surprised and having access to all of one's spells made a very large difference. With Jester's warding, not a single bolt flew his direction. Only one bandit broke through the fold and even approached Caleb, not that he looked up. That bandit was immediately demolished, cleaved by Fjord's sword to the back and a lightning fast roundhouse from Beau to the stomach. A crossbow bolt struck the bandit between the eyes for good measure, and they fell to the mud lifelessly.

As they finished, the clerics checked that no one needed healing, then the group agreed to continue towards the nearest town. Despite their best efforts, the group naturally separated over time, Caduceus taking lead as he looked for signs of danger, Jester badgering Fjord about something silly to get him blushing, and Nott pulling on Caleb's hand to help him keep pace. Beauregard trailed another handful of paces behind them, looking out for anything that may be trailing them. 

This was the longest Caleb had withdrawn. It was now drawing to ten hours since he'd burned her, and after Caduceus's attention this morning, there was no longer any physical mark. It just felt uncomfortably hot, like she'd spent too long in the sun, but not painful.

She would never admit to herself that the defeated slope of Caleb's shoulders as Nott lead him around hurt more than her physical wounds.

When stopped for lunch, Beau was approached by Jester.

"He's still walking like a zombie," Jester whispered, worried creases lining her brow.

"Well, this has got to be like, worse. Right?" Beau had her arms crossed and was toeing the dirt. "Before, he's immolated the shit out of some rando, you know? Sure it's way more gruesome, but…"

"You're a friend," Jester finished as Beau trailed off uncomfortably.

Beau exhaled and mumbled," Why you gotta' put labels on that shit."

"Oh, Beau! Why do you have to be so silly about it?"

"Shut up." She glared, but her hardened eyes softened as she looked Jester in the eyes. "Sorry, right. We're friends, so that is probably exactly why he's still all fucked up." She remembered him telling her and Nott of the night he lit his family home on fire. _I was so sure. I was so sure… until I wasn’t, and I broke a bit._

"How do we help?"

Both women startled as they looked down at Nott, who had evidently walked up and decided to join the conversation at some point.

"The fuck, Nott. I'm going to strap a cowbell on you!" Beau whispered angrily, clutching her chest from the mild scare.

"He needs his cat," Jester said.

"And how are we going to accomplish that?" Beau was ever the pessimist. " _We_ can't summon his cat."

Jester started speaking without having a clear plan. "Well, maybe… If we… um…"

"I know the ingredients he needs for the spell," Nott offered. "I can help us shop for them in town."

This brought an excited gasp from Jester, and she quickly relayed," He was able to cast the hut last night, and he helped me steele myself for battle this morning. So maybe if we bring him the supplies he can summon Frumpkin."

"Fair. At least it's a plan," Beau agreed. Shrugging and trying to keep a flat affect, she added," Better than nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

Beau was the one who had managed to get him to cast a spell on demand last, so they sent her with the incense, charcoal, and brass brazier that Nott had sourced with impressive speed. Arms full of a nauseating amount of incense, Beau had to struggle to knock on the door to the room that the wizard had yet to leave as far as the rest of the Nein had noticed.

"Hey, yo, Caleb," Beau called, rapping on the door impatiently.

She wasn't exactly surprised when that got no reply. Looking down and regarding the meal they'd ordered for him but he'd clearly left to get cold, her resting frown twisted into something a little more dour. "I will bust open this door, Caleb."

As she prepared a stiff frontkick to bust the jam, she heard a small noise that gave her pause. "What?" She asked in a much softer tone than she'd been using, wanting to coax whatever Caleb had attempted to communicate back out.

A small cough, then words so thin she had to press her ear to the door, sounded. "I—I took my medicine today already, haven't I?" Distress made his voice raspy in its murmurs, and his accent was so thick that if Beau hadn't been traveling with him this long she would have thought it was Zemnian. As her brain worked back to what she had initially heard, she realized it had been his name, Ermendrud, Bren, in a roll call like fashion.

Gods, how did she handle this? Did she let him drown in his delusions or shatter the thin grasp he had on augmented reality and possibly scare him to be even more withdrawn?

As she considered her options, he continued," It… it is nearly noon? I would have taken them already…" 

As fear laced his voice, it made the better option pretty fucking obvious to Beau.

"Caleb Widogast," she said levely. That was his _chosen_ name. Maybe it was random chance that it had stuck, but he had chosen to keep it, and it was folded into his identity as a part of the Nein. As a part of a found family that would do everything in their power to help him. "I'm just here to make sure you eat." Slight stretch of the truth. "It's me. Beau." 

Silence.

"C'mon, man. Am I good to enter?"

 _More_ silence.

"Caleb…"

Against every fiber of her being, she softly added," Please…"

" _J-ja_ ," he stuttered out. "Come in, Beauregard."

The way he always drew out her name was a welcome fragment of normalcy in this conversation strangled by old trauma.

"I don't recall locking the door." _And he would remember if he had, of course._

Raising her chambered front kick once more, she instead extended it slowly, with control, so the ball of her foot covered the knob and pushed gently as she twisted her ankle to keep pressure enough to open the door. She had agreed to her studies in dope monk shit primarily for the mundane advantages it granted her, honestly. Martial arts was cool, beating up people was fun, but being able to use your feet as extra hands was just convenient as fuck.

She thought he might be tucked into bed, using the quilt as a barrier between him and the world he couldn't handle, but he had his legs over the edge and his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees. He was still caked in mud, now dry and flaking. The only place free of dirt was his forearms, which were red and sore from scratching.

Beauregard dumped all the supplies on his table, and while Caleb didn't look up, he asked," What is all of that?"

She didn't answer as she grabbed the tray of food from outside. That clattered on the table as well. "We decided you'd be better off with a cat," she finally said, having needed the moment to collect herself. She was good at letting whatever emotion she was feeling come out as anger, but she doubted that would be very helpful right now. She needed to control herself for Caleb's sake.

"I— _Ja_ , I would," he agreed, slowly looking up to see the components they had gathered. His chest was beating so fast it hurt, and his voice was airy and shaking. He jumped near out of his skin as Beauregard shut the door, though she had closed it rather softly compared to how she usually slammed doors like they had personally offended her.

She left the tray of food next to the spell components. Coming over and crossing her arms, before deciding that looked too aggressive and awkwardly putting her hands on her hips, Beau gruffly asked," What else you need?"

Caleb dropped his gaze, and murmured," I deserve noth—"

"Caleb, so help me. I will drag Nott in here and subject you to her mom-pout if you even try to say 'I don't deserve' something one more time." A little less brashly, she repeated," What else do you need?"

Unwilling to repeat the words that were playing ad nauseum in his mind, Caleb stayed silent.

"Well, a fucking bath for one. Jester would give you so much shit if she saw you right now," Beau said lightly, letting herself smirk a little. Caleb needed to see that things were alright. Things would be normal—as normal as ever, anyways—soon.

"I—" He looked down at himself, gaze impassive. "Ah, yes, that would most likely do me good."

She observed as he set his hands to the bed as if to push off and stand up, but the elbows stayed bent, and if she watched closely enough, she could see he was trembling. It was probably taking a lot out of him to stay a part of reality. She doubted he could stand on his own.

"Hey, uh, want a hand up?"

He nodded briefly, then muttered out thanks as she hooked under his arms and pulled him up. He leaned heavily on her, and Beau's heart sank but she doubled her efforts to keep him upright. Walking Caleb to the communal bath, she helped him sit on a bench and grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting a few inches before pausing. This wasn't just an old, crotchety monk she had to bathe as part of her morning chores in the Cobalt Soul.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "Um, do you mind if I take off your shirt and stuff?" Her voice was stilted as she tried to do Fjord proud.

Caleb reluctantly shook his head "no". He didn't want to be clean. He didn't want to be cleaned. He especially didn't want to be cleaned by the person he burned. He didn't want to disappoint her, and that desire outweighed the others if just barely. He raised his arms to further back his assent.

The coarse weave of his tunic scratched as Beau pulled it off, these rags nothing like the high count threads he'd purchased recently. It took so little time for the tattered clothing of his last year to feel alien.

His eyes snapped up with panic as her hands moved to his belt buckle, and she stared back at him. "I have zero interest in what you have between your legs, and after having to clean this four hundred year old dwarf every morning for like two months, I don't think I can be shocked or grossed out anymore."

"R-right. I mean, we've all bathed together," he stuttered, feeling stupid for his reaction. "I was just… surprised."

That made Beau's chest feel tight as she thought of Molly. "Yeah, though it's been awhile, huh?"

He was slow to respond, likely thinking similar thoughts. " _Ja_ , too long perhaps."

"Hands on my shoulders," She instructed quietly, grabbing his waist and helping him stand again. She helped him ditch the rest of his clothing and then walked him to one of the baths and lowered him in.

"Thank you, Beauregard." His voice was tight, embarrassed and used more in the last hour than it had been in the whole last day.

"Shut up. You're not clean yet."

Beau reached over for a cup and filled it with the slightly dingy water Caleb sat in, then put a protective hand on his forehead and pulled his head back as she began to pour. She expected protest, but he went along with it quietly. The water quickly went from a little used to opaque.

Wrinkling her nose, Beauregard suggested," Let's hop over to another tub."

She sponged his back in gentle, sudsy circles. His hair was thicker than hers, and she had to use the provided soaps liberally to get all of the mud out. It was a long bath, Beauregard taking her time running her fingers through his hair to avoid pulling. Caleb obviously didn't want to be happy, but despite himself, he seemed to deeply enjoy as she washed his hair, tugging gently as she ran her fingers through and scratching at his scalp as she went.

"Hey, uh, we didn't think to grab new clothes. Want to message Nott and see if she can bring up your clothes? I think she had them washed today."

He breathed in deeply, and when he spoke his voice was calmer than she expected. "I take it I can speak now?" His lips quirked in a small grin. He received a splash for his answer. "I don't have my copper to message—"

Their messaging had been useful enough and wire had been dramatized enough for Beau to notice, and part of her new wardrobe of choice was using a sturdy coil of copper to keep her hair secured. Her hair fell from its neat bun as she placed her hairpiece in his hand.

"Oh, _danke_ , that will work."

Nott was quick to oblige his request, and his clothes were brought up swiftly, freshly pressed and ready to wear. She left just as quickly, trusting Beau to keep up the good work and not wanting to mess up the monk's carefully laid plans.

Caleb was steadier on his feet after his long soak, though seemed to be clamming up again. He kept his gaze down, paying more attention to the ties of his top than strictly necessary.

"Do… Do your burns hurt?"

"You barely got me, man."

"That is not what I asked, Beauregard."

"Feels like a bad sunburn," she answered with a shrug. Now that he seemed fine to walk on his own, she started towards the exit at a steady pace, ready to give him some space and privacy so he could reassemble his composure

Beau bristled at the silence creeping back and complained. "It was a mistake, Caleb."

Caleb scoffed at this. "A mistake," he darkly echoed. "I did not spill ale on you, Beauregard. I didn't bump into you walking. I _burned_ you."

"Yeah, and Nott shot me in the ass, and that was on purpose," she countered, failing to control her temper.

Caleb's steps slowed until coming to an outright stop, and she turned to gauge the damage control she'd need to perform. Now that she actually had friends, she was sometimes frustrated by her razortip tongue.

He was staring at his hands, but his survey seemed to be going through them. "It is more than that, and you know it." His voice was gravel. "I had… I woke from a dream—a nightmare—because of thunder. Simple thunder. A-and, in my panic, I left the whole party open to attack and the elements. I was useless. A coward."

His eyes rose to hers, the tumultuous sea of blue belying the full anger he harbored towards himself. "And in my fear, I burned you, and was helpless the next morning."

Beau wasn't planning on having this conversation in the hallway, but she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity of him voluntarily speaking. She found her hands back at her hips, fingers curling into her skin hard enough her knuckles paled, as she watched Caleb bury his face in his hands. Watch her temper, cool her words. Watch her temper, cool her—"So fucking what?"

She took a step closer and punched his shoulder lightly—feeling a little bad as he flinched—as she said," Pretty sure I've cold cocked you for waking me up at the bar before."

Before he could get a word in on that remark, she brusquely bit out," And these knuckles can hit ghosts. My hands are certified weapons."

Caleb tasted blood and realized he was biting his tongue. There was pretty much no playing it cool anymore, but he tried anyways. Converting his facepalm into running his hands through his now clean hair, crossing his arms… He could feel how his shoulders tensed upwards, his crossed arms looked more of an uncertain hug than a striking gesture.

Her blood was pumping, and with Beau's natural flare she couldn't always squelch in response to squishy emotions, it was hard to fight the rise. Her brow raised sympathetically though as she took in the scared visage before her, and she sighed and scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "I don't know what to say, man. Like, life is shitty and bad stuff happens. You barely even got me. I tried to let you know I was okay right away, but I… lost you, y'know?"

"I… I know." He looked to his boots, shame coloring his cheeks.

"Hey, let's make a deal. You're all upset about being quote, unquote, useless, right?" She didn't give him time to agree or counter her assessment. "So next time you think you've barbequed one of us, just, like, shoot out a message or something before melting down, okay? We can reply to the message and let you know you're just delusional. Get right back into the fight."

A bitter laugh out of him felt like a bit of an accomplishment right now. It had some amusement in it at least. "I will try to honor that request."

"Holding you to that."

"Good."

A silence grew, but it felt a lot less strained than earlier. It was the quiet that grew after a decision just before a full fledged plan. 

Caleb broke the silence first. "Would I be able to… Would you mind if I tended to your burns?"

Beau raised one eyebrow and said," I already told you Caduceus saw to them."

"B-but you said that—" His eyebrows synched together. "You said they still felt like a sunburn, yes?"

"Well, sure—"

Caleb steeled himself and strode forwards, grabbing her wrist as he passed, and dragged her back to his room.

"What are you doing?" Beau's voice sounded annoyed, but they both knew she was more curious.

He dug through his bag until he found what he was looking for, and held a small container up and awkwardly stuttered through," When you play with fire…"

He twisted it open, revealing an off-white powder. "Um, mix it with water, and apply the paste to the skin," he explained. Then, much more quietly, he added," It's my mother's recipe." Being a redhead child who had to work in the fields meant he had gotten more than his fair share of sunburns.

She saw how he held it to his chest, like it was precious. Looking to the chair between them where he'd dropped his things, she sighed and grabbed the waterskin and handed it to him. When he took it hesitantly, she just casually began unbuckling her left boot and started pulling it off, then pushed her pant leg to the knee before pulling off her left bracer.

The skin that had been a bit of a burnt mess yesterday was healed, but still a little reddened and lighter than the rest of her skin. "See? It really wasn't that bad. Just my forearm and a bit of my ankle," Beau said with a dismissive shrug.

Caleb breathed in to say something, but upon a pointed look from Beauregard, wisely shut his mouth. He grabbed a mug from his bag and mixed some paste quietly, breathing in deeply as ginger pervaded the air. 

Rushes of memories, soft moments where his mother mixed her remedy as he ate dinner with a book in hand after a long day's work, flooded his mind. The feeling of the baking soda slush drying on his back felt kind, as opposed to how the mud caking in his hair had only driven in his feeling of failure. He missed the humming of Zemnian hymns that always accompanied her working, the feel of her calloused hands on his shoulders, and the tender application of her poultice.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Beau watched curiously, seeing a side of Caleb she hadn't witnessed often. He wasn't smiling, but he wore a gentle expression—a content expression—and he was humming. She wasn't familiar with the tune, but she bit back her instinct to ask about it. Beau didn't want to interrupt this experience.

Abstractedly, Caleb finished mixing the paste and scooped a decent portion of his mixture and gently began smothering her inflamed skin with it. Beau stared with a nonplussed expression as she thought of how it would feel as it dried. It felt okay so far, at least offering relief in the form of simply being wet and not hot enough for a bath, and she wasn't going to complain about the gentle massage that came with.

The paste was already drying where he'd started by the time he finished. The humming came to an awkward and abrupt end, but neither commented on it, which he seemed thankful for. "Leave it on for an hour or so, and wash it off gently, and it should offer a fair amount of relief," he instructed.

"Aw, man. I was planning on picking up chicks tonight," she said, putting on an air of being terribly inconvenienced as she brought her arm up for closer inspection.

She got the small chuckle she'd been hoping for.

"I believe you have told me 'chicks dig scars' on more than one occasion," he retorted dryly. "Just let them know it's to fight infection off after the wounds you sustained in battle, and maybe you can win some sympathy." It was more or less true.

"Nah, man. I'm just giving you shit."

Caleb sighed. "I know."

It felt good for things to feel so much closer to normal.

"We good?"

"Of course, Beauregard."

A short silence sank in. 

"You good?"

"That's a complicated answer, but I'll settle for 'as much as usual'."

He couldn't meet her gaze, afraid of a look of disapproval.

She frowned as she gave up hope of trying to find eye contact. "What do you need?"

Caleb managed to cut himself off before he got far into the sentence that would have won her ire. "Quiet, I think," he decided to say instead.

"And to eat?"

He grimaced and shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Beau stretched in her way of idly flexing. "You haven't eaten in a day. I won't press it, but you know Nott will if you don't eat soon."

He grumbled out a Zemnian phrase that she was beginning to learn meant something to the effect of "Yeah, I know".

"Oh, and summon your damn cat," Beau said as she stood up.

"Thank you, I will."

Beauregard looked back as she opened the door. She saw Caleb inspecting the incense and nodding with approval. "Nott picked the stuff out."

"She has a good eye, as always." 

He set the incense down, then seemed to regret giving up something to fiddle with in his hands and began to wring his hands slowly. He kept his eyes on her feet, one on the ball to keep her feet level despite only wearing one boot. "Beauregard," he started, then sighed shakily. 

It was these moments, when it felt like a profound expression of gratitude was harder than climbing a mountain, that he felt his age in his bones. He felt the hairline fractures in his psyche from the decade he'd lost. "Thank you. Thank you for pulling me out of… I don't believe there's a word for it in this language."

"I'd believe it. There's, like, seventeen words for different types of love in halfing, and we get one."

That was a topic he'd like to broach sometime, but he needed quiet now. Caleb must have telegraphed his emotions well enough. With a final pat on the door, Beau said," I'll let you to it then."

"Truly, Beauregard, thank you."

She slipped out without saying any more, feeling awkward at receiving sincere gratitude.


End file.
